The Taste Your Lips Allow
by inkformyquill
Summary: Songfic. About Harry Styles from One Direction. One shot. Complete. "My mind starts to wander to how happy we used to be and how anxious we were to build our lives together. Harry has changed a lot throughout the years, but his love for me never faltered. I wonder when it was that I realized that his love was not enough." My first fanfic, inspired by two Ed Sheeran songs.


_In addition to my surprisingly unhealthy obsession with One Direction, I was suddenly inspired to write a fanfic. This chapter titled after and inspired by two Ed Sheeran songs. It's not at all smutty (although trust me when I say that I tried my best), but sultry instead. I put in a lot of time and TLC in this last chapter, that I swear it could stand on its own as a one-shot._

_This was my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I hope you've enjoyed these 3am thoughts of mine. _

_Constructive criticism is always welcomed!_

**FINAL CHAPTER - SMALL LEGO HOUSE**

I'm in the kitchen and slicing up pieces of leftover chicken from last night's meal and placing them in the tupperware. I reach over for a juice box, an apple and a granola bar and place them all in a little pink lunchbox.

"Jamie! Hurry up sweetie, you're going to miss your school bus."

I stop moving for a bit to listen. A moment later, I hear the pitter patter of little feet that I was waiting for.

"Well," says a small voice as she enters, "maybe that's not a bad thing."

I turn towards her with a stern look and she's wearing a devilish smile that seems all too familiar to me. She truly is her father's daughter. I walk over to her, hand her the lunchbox and say, "Jamie Anne Styles, no daughter of mine will skip school. Don't you want to see your friends in class?"

She looks up at me with her wide chestnut eyes and smiles her sweetest smile, dimples and all, and innocently says, "Yes, but I'd rather spend the day with you!"

At that moment, Harry walks in, wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek. "I see my girls are arguing again! Not to fear, daddy's here!" He lets me go to swiftly pick up Jamie and swing her above his head. I watch her squeal in delight, her feet kicking in the air and her arms freely swinging about. Harry is laughing wholeheartedly with a bright gleam in his eyes. When he sets her down, she becomes dizzy from laughter, her curly hair wilder than ever and she completely forgets what we were talking about. Jamie pulls our shirts down to kiss Harry and I goodbye on the cheek and rushes out the door to the yellow school bus outside.

"How do you do that?" I ask him with my arms crossed.

"Do what?" He simply replies as he eats a piece of bacon I had cooked earlier. "Listen babe, I gotta run to work so you need to wake up."

"What?" I answer abruptly.

"Wake up. Wake up, luv."

Wildly, I open my eyes and I find myself sitting on the bed in our dark room with Harry looking at me worriedly. It takes me a moment to compose myself and realize what was happening.

**And I'll whisper quietly, I'll give you nothing but truth  
If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you**

"You wouldn't stop turning… Dreaming again about her, weren't you?". He lifts his hand and softly wipes the silent tears on my cheek with his thumb. I nod and all I can manage to mumble was "mhmm" before I broke down and cried in his arms.

**You are my one and only  
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb  
and hold me tight  
And you'll be alright**

A few years into our relationship, Harry and I had decided to get married and we wanted to get a head start on the big family we were to have. A few short months after our wedding, I got pregnant.

We were still young, I was 27 and Harry had just turned 24, but we were ready. Financially, emotionally and physically, we were prepared to take on this next step in life.

Because I was in London, I didn't have my mother with me to help me get through the pregnancy. Thankfully my mother-in-law, Anne, visited us every weekend to help us prepare. She taught me to baby-proof the house, gave me her old maternity clothes and would accompany me to the OB/GYN when Harry was out of town. After running errands all day, I came home to find that the spare room Harry used as an office was changed into a nursery. Anne had spent all day with her daughter, Gemma, painting and furnishing the room for the baby. Of course I broke down in tears, not from the hormones (although I swear, they didn't help), but from the incredible act of kindness and support I got from his family.

One day, four months in, I woke up in a cold sweat with a strange feeling. I knew something had gone wrong. I was experiencing random pangs of pain and I was spotting. I called my doctor and he explained that I should relax, these things were normal. A few days go by, the pain stopped, the spotting didn't. I insisted on seeing my doctor the next day and it was in her clinic where she confirmed my worst fear. It was to be a baby girl.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah… So am I."

**You were just a small bump unborn  
for four months then torn from life  
Maybe you were needed up there  
but we're still unaware as why**

(THREE MONTHS LATER, PRESENT TIME)

I am standing in the shower, the hot water running down my body, the palms of my hands laying flat above my sunken head on the hard tiles. My eyes are tightly shut and I am unsure if it is exhaustion from the busy day or if it is exhaustion from the past few months that is finally catching up to me. My legs try to stay steady as to keep myself from being crushed under the weight of the heaviness of my life. The shower quickly fills up with steam and when I finally find myself engulfed, I feel the tears start to form and my body shakes, giving in, succumbing to its need to admit defeat.

I find myself in a ball, squatting on the shower floor. I feel my fingers have pruned and my skin has turned red from the rough scrubbing of the loofah. My tears feel hot as they flow out, searing my cheeks. I'm sobbing so loudly, I don't hear the screen door open and I suddenly feel strong arms embrace me.

"Baby," he says. His breath is incredibly steady while he tightens his grip on me and my stiff body.

"Baby," he repeats, softer this time. "Let's get you out of here."

He lets me go momentarily to close the running water. I feel the warmth of his arms leave me and I lift my head and face him. He hadn't bothered to undress when he hopped in the shower with me. His white t-shirt is sticking to his chest; his jeans are heavy from being soaked through.

After he helps me stand up, he lifts me with ease out of the bathroom and my head falls to his chest. _Why is he always saving me? _

I had grown accustomed to the hot steam and upon feeling the chill of the bedroom, a shiver runs through me. He sits me down on a warm and fluffy blanket and wraps it around my naked body. He reaches over for small towel and begins to wring the water from my hair while I sit quietly, motionless. I feel my cheeks flush a little, knowing that he witnessed me in raw form, broken down in the shower.

This entire moment lasted for only a few minutes, although I could have sworn it lasted a lifetime. I look up at him and, for the first time in years, I take the time to drink in his facial features. In his mid 20s, he is no longer the boy I first met in that dingy pub. His cheeks are a little hollower; his light facial hair runs along his stronger jaw line. His lips, however, are just as inviting as before and his dimples divulge his playfulness.

He and I sit in complete silence and although he sits so close to me, why do I feel like we are miles apart? He must be feeling the need to fill the silence somehow too because he stands to turn the radio on. A song was lightly playing.

**I'm gonna pick up the pieces,  
And build a Lego house  
If things go wrong we can knock it down**

He peels off his soaked clothes and, in nothing but his boxers, he sits on the floor at the foot of the bed where my feet dangle. He looks up at me and starts telling me a story.

"I was working earlier today with the boys at a radio station where they invited a fan to ask us each a question. He was young, maybe ten years old, extremely shy. His question to me was if I saw three shooting stars, what would I wish on? After I answered, I then redirected the question to him.

"He said that he would wish the same wish on the three stars. I then asked him why on all three? What was it that he wanted so badly? He then said that he wishes for his mum to get better. I found out afterwards that his mum is in palliative care and that she is in the final stages of her cancer."

I look at him questioningly. "Gee, thanks for the story, Styles, that lifted my spirits!"

"Hey! There's my sarcastic girl, haven't seen you in a while." He winked at me as I rolled my eyes and smirked. He continued, "The point of my story is that although he understands that his mum most likely will not survive and that no amount of shooting stars could help, he refuses to give up on her. He stands by her and grieves with her, they pray together and read books together. Despite it all, he keeps this great attitude, saying that he is thankful for what she's taught him and grateful that his father is there to guide him through life. Isn't that beautiful?"

"Yeah, I guess…" I look at him inquisitively, not sure where he is going with this. I unwrap myself from the blanket, stand up to find one of Harry's old t-shirts in the closet and put it on.

"It got me thinking. Luv, I know that we've been through a lot, but maybe we can try again. We can always try for another baby."

Immediately, I feel my body tense up and as I make my way back to the bed. I say, "No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I'm not ready yet."

"Of course, we'll take our time."

"Just the thought of it…"

"I know. Don't worry, I didn't mean today, at this very moment."

"No, no, no…"

"Wait, it's ok, I get it. I understand-"

"NO, HARRY, you don't understand what I'm going through!" I snap.

"Who else other than I could understand what you're feeling? I went through it WITH you. She was to be my daughter too, you know!"

**And it's dark in a cold December, but I've got you to keep me warm  
If you're broken I will mend you and keep you sheltered from the storm  
that's raging on now**

I never peel my eyes off of him. His stance tells me that he's ready to pounce, his fists are clenched and his eyebrows are deeply furrowed. "It's not fair. You sit here with the curtains closed, walk around sulking, withdrawn. Every night we sleep together, but you won't let me touch you. I understand, you're upset, you're hurting... but I am too. We should work through our pain and just like we got through everything else, we should do it together."

He slowly approaches me and cups my face with both of his hands. They're warm and lightly shaking. He begins to speak softly "I miss my wife. My carefree, funny, sweet, sexy, dorky wife. I know we lost a baby, but we didn't lose each other." His beautiful green eyes never leaving my clouded ones, he continues.

"... You didn't lose me. I'm not going anywhere."

At his words, I clasp my hands onto his and for a moment, I am speechless. I feel horrible. I rapidly say to him, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the baby and for forgetting you. I'm sorry for treating you this way. I'm sorry for leaving you out."

I catch my breath for a moment, stand up and start to pace the room. I knew that I had become distant and disconnected. I drove around aimlessly for hours at a time, with no destination in mind. I would have done anything to stay away from the house, particularly away from the empty nursery.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." I repeat as I return to Harry and sit kneeling before him. "You're so patient; you continue to be here at my worst and I don't know how you do it."

**I'm out of touch, I'm out of love  
I'll pick you up when you get down  
And out of all these things I've done  
I think I love you better now**

"Babe," he says, "The air in the hallways is the scent of your perfume. The sound in the kitchen is that of your soft singing. Your love means everything to me and I promise that I will bring you happiness again."

I inhale and exhale deeply as I rise and pull him up, close to me. We sit down on the edge of the bed, side to side, forehead to forehead. I bring my lips to his and it is a kiss that is slow and profound. It is a kiss that both begs for pardon and offers forgiveness. It is a kiss that weighs a million pounds. It is a kiss that is alleviating.

**I'm out of sight, I'm out of mind  
I'll do it all for you in time  
And out of all these things I've done  
I think I love you better now**

I drag my hand to the nape of his neck and the craving within me intensifies. I rise to straddle him and wrap my legs around his waist. I close the physical space between us and we stay frozen in our tight, tangled embrace. I can feel Harry's strong heartbeat on top of mine, his sturdy arms holding me up and tightly pressing my chest against his. There is a want building up that feels different. It is a want to connect beyond the physical. To say the words that were left unsaid. To be fully consumed in him.

The heat radiating from our bodies becomes too much to handle and I peel away only to bring our lips together again, imploring him. I lightly drag my nails down his muscled back, going slowly over the ridges; a preview of what's to come. He brings his hands to the hem of my shirt and slowly lifts it off of me, leaving me fully exposed. Then, he carefully picks my body up, setting me on my back on the mattress.

He smiles at me, resting one hand on my hip and his other tracing a steady line across my body, his gaze following his slow movements. His hand is leaving a hot trail as it descends from my temple to my neck, to the space between my breasts, all the way down to my belly button. He then sits up on the bed, kneeling between my legs and grabs hold of my ankles, flinging them over his shoulders.

He removes his boxers and slowly lowers his body on top of me, allowing me to feel every hot inch of skin against mine. Our centers throb at contact and I can hear Harry's breathing become shallow, but he continues to take his time. We have all night.

He leaves light kisses on my chest and settles on my neck, finding the sweet spot only he knows that would ignite my entire being. I keep my eyes closed, revelling in the feeling. My hands are travelling up and down his long torso, feeling every flexed muscle of his chest under his skin, occasionally wandering downwards to trace the v shape I've always lusted after. "My beautiful wife," he says in his slow and husky voice. "You are mine. And I am yours."

**I'm out of touch, I'm out of love  
I'll pick you up when you get down  
And out of all these things I've done  
I will love you better now**

With restrained urgency, I feel him all over me as if to reacquaint himself to me through his soft lips, to relearn with his swift tongue, to re-explore with his large and strong hands. Then, for the first time in months, Harry and I reconnect all throughout the evening…

As the sunlight begins to spill through the window curtains, I lie down with my head against Harry's chest. I listen to his heart beating softly as he is coming down from our highs. His arm is wrapped around me to meet my hand, interlocking our fingers. I smile as I tiredly close my eyes, spent. The sound of our cries in utter bliss just moments before is even now ringing in my ears. But now he and I stay still, twisted in the bed sheets, our chests rising and falling in sync. In the moment between awake and asleep, I knew without a doubt that this man loves me.

From youth, we're conditioned to believe that great love is found in grand gestures: Disney movies showing princes slaying dragons. Shakespeare writing of Romeos climbing trellises. Hollywood showing the John Cusacks of the world blasting love songs from a boom-box.

In reality, true love lies in unsuspecting moments. Moments that are beautifully private and simple. Moments that others may dismiss and regard as insignificant.

Due to Harry's high-profile career, it is in our moments of rare seclusion where our relationship grew best. Our love would never be the explosive kind - full of bouquets of roses and big, public declarations.

Instead, during the evenings when Harry felt anxious because of work, he would lie in my arms and I would rub his back all night to help him sleep. After putting in overtime at the office, I would come home late and find a cooked dinner, a bottle of my favorite red wine and Harry at the table, waiting with a smile. Also, no matter how angry we were at each other throughout the day, we would never go to bed without making up first.

That was our kind of love. The fulfilling kind. The quietly passionate kind. The implicit kind.

From that evening on, as we both slept, I knew that Harry's love would always be more than enough and that I would love him better now.


End file.
